Poker Face
by Spockchick
Summary: Written for the Uhura is Awesome ficfest on LJ. Uhura has to communicate using an appendage she lacks. The Enterprise men are not helpful. Friendship fic.


**A/N ** written for the _Uhura is awesome ficfest_ at LiveJournal Community, **Where no Woman**. The prompt was: Trying to communicate in a language that requires an appendage she lacks. Well, obviously that was a wee crack-fic waiting to happen... . Thanks to my lovely beta SpockLovesCats.

**Poker ****Face**

Looking despondently at the collection of objects on her desk, Uhura realised that she might not be quite so awesome after all. She could hear a twig crack beneath a Gorn tracker's boot almost a kilometre away if the wind was in the right direction. A rapid-fire bargain in Klingon with the slipperiest of market traders was no hardship. In addition, she could hammer down his price and _then_ negotiate a Starfleet discount on account of his blatant disregard for regulation. If bobby pins had still existed, she could've used one to hot wire a cracked circuit board in dim light, under pressure, in a bridge full of smoke, in under four seconds. She could make a functioning model of a Quinmembris' signal limb in...about a year, at the rate she was going. She needed help and there was only one man for the job, one man on the entire _Enterprise _who could help her, and who would positively, absolutely be guaranteed not to laugh.

Five minutes later, Uhura stood at his door, clutching her project to her chest lest anyone see the peculiar item, and its ramshackle construction. Pieces of it sloughed cruelly off against her uniform dress in mockery of the fact she couldn't actually do everything after all.

The door swished open and she stepped inside. "I need help with some work, I know you are off duty but I really, really can't do this myself." She dumped her sorry looking object onto his desk, where it fell apart, instantly looking slightly more professional than when it was cohesive. A skeptical eyebrow rose while a uniformed arm shot out and prodded the sad collection of plastic bits (un)tied together with wire.

"What in bloody hell is that lassie? Did your wee niece make it?"

"No Scotty, I made it."

"Oh...sorry. What is it? It looks like a squashed – "

"I know, I _know _what it looks like. It's supposed to be a model of a Quinmembris' signal limb. I've got four days to make a working model so I can practice communicating with them when we go planet-side."

"Um, where does it – um... I mean, where d' ye _wear_ it?"

"On your outer bicep, here." She indicated the region of the Quinmembris' extra limb.

"Well, thank God for that. Have you got some illustrations? Schematics? Or just mebbey an anatomy diagram?"

Seconds later they sat at Scotty's terminal pondering the Starfleet Medical Reference manual, section 88.29.2, Humanoid species; Quinmembris; Anatomy. The chief engineer stroked his stubbled face for an age until a light went on in his eyes and he jumped up. "You stay here - I've got just the thing - I'll be back in a sec." Uhura sat with her elbow on the desk, chin in hand, and waited for Scotty to return. He was away for about twenty minutes and she was beginning to wonder if he had been called back on duty when the door opened and he staggered in, hair askew and...

"Scotty, is that lipstick?" Uhura rubbed her friend's dark raspy jaw with her thumb.

"Eh, aye. I had tae do a bit o' negotiation tae get this." With a flourish he produced a plastic cube from behind his back. "It's new, it's no' been _used_."

The cube was elaborate packaging for a clearly high-quality item that nestled inside. The box was a subtle shade of green with curly, looped writing in standard that mimicked the curves of Vulcan script. It looked like a box of chocolates, with tasteful and luxurious packaging. She took the proffered carton and turned it over in neatly manicured hands, reading the elegant calligraphy. _Green__ dreams__. __Emerald __Elegance__; __model__ 20.5. __Working __replica__ with __remote__ control__. __For__ many __nights __of__ satisfaction__. __He__'__s __a __show__-__er_ and _a __grower__... __Your __very __own__ Lok__-__in__-__the__-__box__! _The Communication Officer dropped the carton like a hot potato.

"Scotty! If you think I'm wearing _that_ on my arm, you are sorely mistaken – you pervert!"

"No, no lass, I dinnae think that. I think we could strip him down for parts, see? It's a simple hydraulic mechanism, remote controlled. All we have to do is remove the...em...external..um..., and bingo! We tinker wi' it tae make it do what we want and then cover it up again with a synthesised skin that is less, eh _green_, and Bob's yer uncle!"

"Will that work?"

"Am I a Scotsman? We'll make it work. What do these folks need this for anyway?"

"They have very taut facial musculature, so expressions are limited, and their vocal cords are rigid, they can't relax and stretch them like ours, making their intonation totally flat. This member communicates meaning, like humour, sarcasm, sadness. Because they are not used to hearing intonation in their own voices they don't really hear it well in others, so we need this too."

"Kind of like yon emoticons on old email, when they first invented the net? Before we had Emote-a-Mail™?"

"Exactly, Scotty."

"Right, well, let's see the range of movements an' we'll get tae work on yer man's mechanism. Eh, I mean the um, _device__." _Uhura glared, but not too hard as she knew she couldn't do this alone.

A couple of hours later, under Scotty's patient direction, Uhura had made a rather impressive working model of a signal limb. Once she had approached the problem from the correct angle - so to speak - she realised it was no more difficult than wiring up a circuit board. The mathematical calculations required to allow the model to mimic the correct movements had been elegant in their simplicity, and she revelled in a job well done. Thanking Scotty, she vocalised her appreciation that she could never have done it without him.

"Och, lass ye could have, you just didn't know about the secret weapon," - The engineer looked puppyish - "and the _lengths_ I was prepared tae go to t' secure him – eh, it."

* * *

Four days later, the _Enterprise_ landing party sat at a banqueting table taking a postprandial tea with the Quinmembris. Uhura communicated smoothly with the aid of the universal translator and her signal limb that was stuck on with surgical glue. Secreted in her hand was a micro-remote. She had manufactured it to fit on her finger; a ring with a faceted "stone" which she swivelled round to face her palm. Each facet was stroked gently with her thumb to elicit different responses from the limb. A cheerful wagging signalled happiness or humour, flat against her arm was sarcasm, gentle trembling was sadness, and so on. Everything was going swimmingly until, out of the corner of her eye, she saw McCoy lean over to Scotty and whisper into his ear. There was nothing wrong with Uhura's hearing; she heard every word of the doctor's question – and Scotty's blurted reply. It was typical of the doctor to be curious, and for Scotty to communicate over-freely.

The Lok was out of the box.

Uhrua saw the engineer's face fall as he realised – too late – what he had revealed. McCoy, aghast, clamped his mouth into a line, trying, without success, to suppress laughter. This caused his shoulders to shake uncontrollably, bringing him to the attention of Captain Kirk, who leaned over to McCoy and quietly demanded to know what the hilarity was about. In a moment of impropriety the doctor – damn him – passed on the humiliating information, and within seconds, all three men were in contortions, trying not to explode with laughter. Uhura was appalled, and boiling mad. Ever the professional, she carried on, cool as a cucumber, ignoring the disrespectful and childish behaviour going on behind her.

Eventually, the Quinmembris Ambassador leaned close and said, as low as she could manage, "Your males seem to be in some distress."

"Indeed, Ambassador. It appears they are suffering a temporary, but mild, psychotic reaction to the tea. This is common, and it should pass in a few minutes. _Females _do not suffer so." Uhura craned her neck round and made the universal sign of _cut__ it __out _with two fingers drawn across her neck. All three men looked sheepish and cleared their throats ostentatiously while taking long draughts of tea. Thank god Spock was left in command; he would have been utterly confused by the theatrics. The communications officer spent the rest of the meal in calm exasperation, but it was mercifully uneventful, save the occasional muffled squeak from Bones, followed by a swift elbow in the ribs from Scotty. Uhura swore it was the longest meal she had ever endured in her life. Her interrogation training came in very useful. Remain calm, don't give anything away in facial expressions; do not react to external stimulus.

* * *

Back on the _Enterprise_, Uhura cornered the naughty boys in the transporter room, having dismissed the operator in such stern tones that he visibly wilted.

"That, _gentlemen__,_ was the most disgraceful display of "diplomacy" I have ever had the misfortune to witness. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. What happened to your Starfleet interrogation training? Doesn't that teach you to be calm in all situations and not give anything away? I was _mortified_ down there. Senior officers especially! You should all know better." A collective mumbling ensued; the men avoided her eye and seemed suddenly preoccupied with the deck.

"I can't _hear_ you."

There was a self-conscious, dusty foot shuffling focused on the transporter room floor.

"Sorry lass."

"Dollface, I'm really, really sorry. I kinda started it." Bones' mouth twitched with an unapologetic mischief that was at odds with his words.

"As Captain, I shouldn't allow you to give me a dressing down, but you're totally right. I'm sorry, we didn't show ourselves in the best light today. You were completely professional and you put us to shame. Feel free to dismiss us Ma'am." Kirk looked hopeful that she would allow them to leave, his hazel eyes pleading and somehow twinkling at the same time.

Uhura drew herself up to her full height; boots, hose, dress, piled-high hair, "Right, dismissed. Scotty, you can stay behind." Both McCoy and Kirk shot Scotty a _you __are __so __in __for __it_ look as they left, scurrying off in cowed relief.

Once they were alone, Uhura sharply addressed the architect of her discomfort; "Scotty?"

"Um," he looked at the deck, "aye?"

"I had to wear that thing on my arm, right?"

"Eh, aye."

"This surgical glue itches like crazy...

"...The least you could have done was get me a strap-on!"

– The end –


End file.
